Goodnight, Mann
by NeoNails
Summary: Spoilers for Coma Chameleon. "I knew it wasn't going to work out," she whispered. "But it still hurts." Marshall's chest clenched painfully again as he waited for her to finish. Mary/Marshall.


I haven't written anything for _In Plain Sight_ since the season finale, and after missing last week's episode, Coma Chameleon, and then catching up with it just now on Hulu (thank God for that thing), I knew I had to write something new.

Obviously, there are gonna be some major spoilers for Coma Chameleon, so don't read any further if you haven't seen it- in fact, hop on Hulu, watch it, and then jump back and read this (if you still want to XD).

But, that said… w00t!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Who else is as _pumped_ as I am after that ending? Yes, my cold, frozen heart cracked a little when I saw Mary break down to tears afterwards, but I'm so excited to see if USA does what I've been rooting for since like day one… Mary/Marshall all the way. :)

Oh, and if you can't tell, this is obviously going to wind up being AU considering how the commercials look, but let's just pretend mine's better… ;)

$4$

_Where did I go wrong?  
__I lost a friend, somewhere along the bitterness and  
__Would I have stayed up with you all night  
__Had I known how to save a life?_

- "How to Save a Life," by The Fray

* * *

It had been a good dream, too. Marshall Mann couldn't remember what the dream had been about as he cracked open his sleep-crusted eyes, but he remembered vividly it had been a damned good dream. There was blonde hair and some form of cuddling involved, but it had been good.

But that was until the loud, repetitive knocking had woken him up and interrupted his perfectly good dream.

It was very late- or very early, depending on the point of view- and as he stumbled out of bed, crossing his bedroom and walking down the short hallway to his backdoor. He could see, even half-awake and through the little light provided by the moon, that whoever there was still banging and apparently intent on knocking the shades right off the door.

Mostly to stop the noise, Marshall unlocked the door and threw it open, running a hand through his hair- still messy from tossing and turning.

But when his eyes focused on the figure and his neurons and synapses fired and re-fired and connected the face to the person and completed all those billions of intricate tasks it took him to recognize her and what was going on- well, that was when his brain shut down.

Mary- Mary Shannon, _his_ Mary- was standing on his doorstep at 4 in the morning, crying. Mary didn't cry. Mary was strong and angry and insulting most of the time, but she never cried. Mary made fun of people that cried, said they were weak. She only ever cried when something was really, really wrong.

"Mary?" he asked, his voice scratchy and rough. He pushed the door open wider, enough for her to step through, and said, "What happened?"

She didn't say anything at first, just walked forward, tears still streaming down her face, and buried her head in his chest. He had enough time to back her up, wrapping an arm around her as he quickly shut the door behind them. "Mary," he said, holding her close and inhaling the slightly bitter scent of her rosemary and honey shampoo. "Mare, what's going on?"

She hit him- not hard, he wasn't sure if she was strong enough at this point to hit him hard- palm slamming into his collarbone and he realized distantly that it was her left hand.

She wasn't wearing a ring.

Oh, shit…

"Mary, when?" he asked, shifting and covering her hand with his larger one and squeezing. "When did this happen?"

He heard sniffling and she shook her head, more hot tears transferring from her face to his chest. She hit his chest again and muttered, "A couple hours ago."

He sighed, squeezing her hand again and tightening his grip around her waist. "I'm so sorry, Mare," he whispered, burying his face against hers and kissing her hair. "I'm so sorry."

She let out a sob, and that sound alone was enough to break his heart. "I knew it," she said, in between the tears. "I _knew_ it."

Marshall mentally froze. There were multiple ways to take such a simple sentence, especially considering the situation and the given context, but that didn't fit. He knew what she meant. There was only one option, the tiny thought that had been niggling in the back of his mind since the very beginning, making his gut churn.

Mary and Raph weren't meant to be together.

She pulled away suddenly, yanking out of his grip and stepping back. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot from crying but completely clear and lucid. "I never should've gotten engaged to Raph," she said, letting out a choked laugh that sounded scarily close to another sob. "I didn't love him- I mean, I _loved_ him, I love him, but I wasn't _in_ love with him- and we shouldn't have stayed together as long as we did. I was stupid and hopeful and I thought, I love him, we're supposed to get married, live happily ever after, yadda yadda yadda, but I _wasn't_ happy. I'm not happy! Okay, I'm not happy." She swiped at her eyes, trying in vain to dry her cheeks as tears continued to fall freely down her face.

"I knew it wasn't going to work out," she whispered, pushing her hair out of her face with a faraway look in her eyes. "But it still hurts."

His chest clenched painfully again, but he waited- he was always waiting for Mary. That was the only way to handle her, especially when she was freaking out. No one ever understood that, but it was one of the most important things to remember about Mary Shannon. She waited for no one, but you had damn better expect to wait for her.

"And, really, how screwed up is that?" she said, wiping her eyes with both hands and straightening up. "Jesus, I realize I'm not actually in love with the guy and yet here I am, a weepy mess because he finally grew a pair and told me straight that we totally suck together. And he was right!"

She looked away, face contorted in the usual Mary combination of anger and frustration, but she had stopped crying. "You know what's the really sad part?" she said, glancing back at him. "The only time I think I am ever actually happy is when I'm working with you. I can't hold a real relationship down, but I can manage to stay amused as we babysit morons and druggies 60 or 70 hours out of the week."

Damn. He wished she hadn't just said that, because he could feel something akin to hope rise up and bubble, which was ridiculous because there was no reason for him to feel any hope. "You feel any better?" he asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

She sighed, cocking her head and mulling it over. "Yeah, I think so," she said simply. She sort of laughed then, staring at him amusedly. "How does that always work so well every damned time?"

Marshall managed a smile- she had a bad habit of always being able to worm a smile out of him, no matter what- and said, "One could argue that because you spend so much of your time bottling up your emotions, when you finally allow yourself to release said problems the end result is almost euphoric."

She squinted her eyes, her mouth morphing into the usual Mary scowl. "God, I hate it when you talk quack," she said, shoulders dropping. "It never makes any sense."

He grinned then, shaking his head because he knew everything was back to normal- or as close to normal as they could manage- when she started mocking him.

"And what's up with this?" she said, throwing a hand out and gesturing to him. "Never would've thought you'd go to bed in only pajama bottoms. You don't have an individual set for each day of the week?"

He scoffed, more than a little embarrassed. He had rushed out of bed, and in his haste has forgotten to throw on a shirt. "I don't exactly judge you for whatever you wear to bed."

Mary rolled her eyes, walking past him and further into his house, stripping off her leather jacket as she did. "Like you could," she shot over her shoulder. "You've never seen what I wear to bed- for all you know I go to bed naked."

That particular thought caused his brain to stutter to a complete stop. He didn't really want to dwell on _why_ he was so stricken by the idea of Mary wearing nothing to bed because that was a very un-partner and un-best-friend like thought.

"Where are you going?" he asked, finally gathering his bearings only to watch in confusion as she continued to walk down the hallway, tossing the jacket on the small couch in the living room and heading further, towards his bedroom.

"It's past 4 in the morning," she said, pushing the door open wider as he reluctantly began to follow her. "I've been crying like a dumbass for the last 5 hours or so, and I'm tired."

Marshall stopped short, confused. "You're going to sleep? You're going to sleep in _my_ bed?"

Mary turned around, unzipping her boots and kicking them off, tossing them by the door along with her socks. "Uhh, yeah?" she replied. "Where else am I gonna sleep?"

He wanted to suggest _her_ bed in _her_ room in _her_ house, but there was a slightly larger, far more selfish part of him that made him hold his tongue and continue walking. "So where am I going to sleep, all-knowing one?" he asking, purposely keeping his tone light.

She rolled her eyes again, looking more like the Mary that went off and kicked ass and took names and didn't get her heart broken by some Spanish asshole. "What are you, ten?" she snapped, tossing her bonde hair over her shoulder. "Do you think I have cooties and we can't share a bed? You have a friggin' queen size bed, I think you can manage not touching me for a whole four hours before we have to get up again and go to work."

Him touching her was exactly the problem. If they shared the same bed, he'd feel the urge to pull her close and breathe in her scent and feel her skin against his. That would just lead to even worse thoughts than the ones he was already conjuring up.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked, standing awkwardly in the doorframe and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Mary looked too perfect standing in the middle of his bedroom, like she always belonged there from the very beginning. "You and Raph just broke up, maybe I should take the couch-"

"Oh my God, stop being such a _girl_," Mary snapped, walking over to the right side of the bed- it was like she knew that he always took the left- and ripping off the sheets. "You and I sleeping together isn't going to send me into another crying jag, for Christ's sake."

She slid into the bed- _his_ bed - and pulled the covers up with her. Marshall sighed heavily, admittedly wiped out from her late-night visit. He knew her mind was made up, and it was too late to argue with her at this point.

He slipped into bed, surprised when Mary rolled over to face him, waiting patiently for him to settle and then wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling him close. Marshall couldn't stop the smile as he relaxed into her embrace, head tilting to press a kiss to the top of her head.

She was his partner, and his best friend. They knew each other better than anyone else on this planet, and for right then, that was all they needed.

$4$

I kinda loved this. I also finally realized why I love Mary so much as I was writing one of the several tirades she went on in this oneshot- she is a total badass, and as a girl that prides herself in loving the _Die Hard_ series and cursing and freaking out over basketball just as much as she loves high heels and makeup, I gotta applaud that.

Plus, very few TV show characters these days can go on angry rants and still manage to stay as badass and scary as Mary does. ;)

So… what do y'all think?


End file.
